The One Who Was Sacked
by OllieOfFreeOxen
Summary: From the point of his resignation, James Norrington sure has a lot of adventures of pirates, women, French, more women, rum, and sailing the seas before ending up as a drunkard in Tortuga. Between CBP n DMC. A tragic story told in Norry's point of view.
1. Death of an Englishman

Whole Story Disclaimerness: The general guideline is that Disney owns Norrington and anyone else mentioned once but actually have a name, generally a bird-like name that reminds you of something you'd see in a Disney epic film. Well, except for Jensen. And Edward Sr. But they're mentioned about three times, and don't remind you of something you'd see in a Disney epic film. Enjoy!

* * *

A ceremony is often one of celebration, like a wedding of some sort. Friends and family of the bride and groom collect themselves together for a formal ceremony, and then afterwards celebrate with drinks and chatting. Even a funeral is a celebration. It is a celebration of a man's life, even though there is much mourning; it is all in his honour.

There is one ceremony that I can think of at the moment that should never be celebrated. It is a man's demotion. There is no celebrating of any kind, not even to commemorate the man's doings. Obviously, the man's doings were absolutely wrong and despicable even to the most common of townspeople. It is the ceremony I am receiving now.

"Norrington? Norrington! Your uniform, please," coughed the admiral in a gruff voice.

I paused for a moment, fingering the gold-painted buttons that lingered next to my heart. I hoped my expression was like stone, straight and proper like any officer's should be. But, the sea was rustling inside, waiting to carry out a storm.

"Good Lord, man! Come off it!"

The admiral took most of my coat off. His face was not a straight one, but a scowl. It shouldn't have been a scowl. I knew this man and he knew me. He had patted my back and shook my hand every time I met him on the street. But now, he scowled.

"Your hat," he called.

I mirrored his face and ripped off my good commodore hat, dyed and fluffed like the tailor's life depended on it. It probably did, come to think of it. I had a few moments to myself while he gingerly put the coat down on his desk and straightened the hat on top of it. I could have examined his office more closely. I hadn't been there in a very long time, and I wasn't eager to come again. Before, it was a just simple office with a large window on one side of the wall, a fireplace on the other, and a desk in the middle. It was not much more now except for some portraits of decoration.

Alright, so I did look around. That took up most of my moment. The rash decision that crossed my mind some time earlier was coming to haunt me again. The few seconds I had more were blank.

"I'll just be-" he stopped, his scowl gone, and bottom lip trembling.

I stared for a moment until my mind swallowed down. No, it was not worth it. It wasn't even half worth it, as satisfying as it was. I just couldn't. It was insane, not rash at all. I swung the pistol down my fingers.

"This pistol was issued to me when I was promoted to Captain." My fingers brushed over the ivory grip a last time. "I would not see it fit for it to be in my possession."

"Norrington," the man almost chuckled, "I'm not sure that you understand. You have just been demoted to Captain. We're not sacking you! Please, keep the pistol. You're sure to need it." He pushed it away, gazing at me with jolly playful eyes.

I swallowed. "No, Admiral. I'm afraid that you don't understand..." My bottom lip set between my teeth for a moment. "I-I'm... Ad-..." I pushed my throat down painfully. "I... um..."

"What?"

"I-I'd like to resign."

The admiral froze, as did I. Vulgar words bounced in my head, all describing myself at this moment. I'd rather not include them in this writing. But really, how could I be so incredibly stupid? Then again- how could I not? My whole world crashing against me. I really had nothing to lose. Although, I should've kept the pistol. At least people feel sorry for a man who commits suicide, rather one who lives off the back of a pub.

"A-are you sure about this?"

I got him scared now too. I was more in control of the situation, and I could have easily taken back what I said. I also knew a man who once told me he'd like to fly amongst the pretty little birds. But then again, that's not how life goes.

"Yes, I am." Dolt. Now I really regretted it.

"Very well then, here are your papers..." He took up his glasses and finally stood up to search his desk. It was messy, as I remember it now, but it didn't take long for him to find two pieces of parchment, already written out in full. "I suspected you would. A man like you doesn't take rejection well."

"_Excuse me! _I take rejection very well! I take it extremely well! Do you see me breaking with emotion? I'd like to see you get a bit- Where's that goddamn quill!" I snatched the admiral's eagle feather before he could reach for it. I've always taken pride in signing my name with my naval title at the time. Now I took pride without it.

"Hm. It's a shame, isn't it?" He smiled smugly while he took the papers. I could half see the mad grin in his eyes. "Thatcher, remove this man from my office. He is no longer a part of the Royal Army, and therefore should not be looked upon with the eyes of respect."

The guard next to the door took my arm, but I swung it back. Oh, that bastard.

"OH, YOU BASTARD! You're not a least bit sorry! Out of all people, you! You who... Who ushered me into the Navy with every intention of ruining my life! My God, you're positively repulsive!" I kept fighting back the guards, eyes on the man. He was almost laughing now, popping a candy into his mouth.

"Yes, well I'm afraid there's only room for one successful man in Port Royal. Obviously, it is not you." I swore I heard a cackle before Thatcher threw me out the door.

I tried yelling out some more things before another guard picked me up by the arm, dragging me to his friend across the hall. They laughed, having fun kicking me around. Barely five minutes before, I could have sent all of them to prison for life. I was now a nobody and common life had a great way of greeting me. I finally hit my back cold on the mud. No one noticed. I wondered if anyone cared. I wouldn't have, back when I was a Commodore. Funny how these things work.


	2. My Sister's House

Wowee, since I've been having a buffet with the reviews, I decided to update early. Thank you, thank you, thank you, plus infinity everyone. Please review again, and I might donate some reviews to Africa to save the starving children. :)

---

I dreamt that day of the hurricane again. That's right, I was dreaming in the day because I got knocked out during the day. That's how nice the King's forces treat me now when I'm not a part of it.

The water drowned my face, as well as the orders to my men. They held their keep for a fair amount of time. There's no way to compare to Davy Jones, no matter how great you think you are. I watched as a clump of the crew was swept off to sea, their ropes slipping out of their knots.

"COMMODORE!" It was Gillette, I was sure of it. I held tight to the railing, making my way down. I could barely see anything, let alone the faces of my crew. Suddenly, Gillette came straight toward me. His face was pearly white, gaunt, and worn. He grabbed me tightly by the shoulders and smiled. Half of his teeth were black, but one was pure gold. His eyes grew mad and his mouth went wide.

"Jamie! Jaamie! Wake up, Jamie!"

My eyes shuddered open. Kind hazel eyes blinked back.

"Adelaide? Wh-When did I get here?" I pushed myself up from the bed, seeing a dark green themed bedroom before me. The walls, curtains, and even my sheets were all in an ugly olive colour. The air was humid, and from what I could see through the window that it was late in the afternoon already.

"Well. I was walking through Port Royal on a peaceful sunny day, and who else do I see than my own brother, sprawled out on the side of the road. And you know me; I couldn't have left those poor carriages to worry about running over some bloke! So, I convinced Edward to take you up to the house. He wasn't sure it was you, at first. But I know my big brother's face anywhere!" She proceeded to pinch my cheek and wag it around, like she always did since we were toddlers. I never knew why she kept on doing it through adulthood as well.

"Enough of that." Her hand suddenly switched over to the tray on my bedside. "Now, you eat. I can tell you haven't been eating well-"

My mouth opened to speak.

"And I can tell you don't want to talk about it. No mind then." Adelaide set down the hearty meal before me so that even if I tried to get up, the soup would spill over my lap, if not into one of the other soggy little vegetables. "You are to eat all of this by the time I get back. That's your order, sir." Her brunette hair fell down her shoulders as she bowed with a smirk and left. Adelaide was always a curious thing. She manages to be a complete opposite of myself, yet we still had got along perfectly as children.

I took my time with the meal. It was a fine one, if a man has an acquired taste to bland food. I thought myself kind enough not to mention the burnt pieces. This was my first chance to actual think about what was going on. My resignation would be kept quiet, only for a bit. Within a few days, everyone in the town would know. That meant I could not go out in daylight anymore. It was too risky. The comments would be bad enough, let alone the face-to-face reaction from my peers. No, it wasn't possible. James Norrington would have to vanish from the Caribbean- or, at least until it smoothed over. God only knew how long that would take.

My sister didn't come up very soon afterward, although I did wait up for her. In the end, I set the tray at the foot of my bed and slipped under the covers. If anyone knew her it was I, and it was most likely she was out chatting with some random stranger.

I'm proud to say that I didn't have horrible dreams that night. I would be lying to say it probably have nothing to do with the food. I woke on my own in the early morning. The dishes I left last night were already taken away. I half expected for Adelaide to be around the corner, carrying a tray of breakfast. When she didn't come and I got my mind set on straight, I started my journey through the house.

The hallway was empty, as were all the other rooms upstairs. I made my way slowly downstairs, seeing no signs of recent human life. The dining room was perfectly untouched. Its walls were decorated with teapots of all sizes, an heirloom from my mother. I noticed that the collections had very few new additions, but I was just feeling a little homesick just standing there around them. They did a jolly good job of looking very dirty though, as I'd doubt if anyone had cleaned them in ages. I took my hand to rub the dust off a large pot made of tin.

"Hands off, thief."

I spun around to find myself with a rifle at my chest. On the other end was a young boy, hardly at the age to be carrying any kind of gun. His hair was outgrown and the colour that most compared to dust... but with a brown tint. He trembled slightly, but made a good effort holding the end and his glare straight at me. I held out my hands in protest.

I began to speak, slightly startled. "Don't shoot! I was... um... just looking. Actually, I-" Just slightly, mind.

"State your name," said the boy, poking me a bit with the rifle.

"Com- James Norrington."

"Don't you lie! James Norrington is my uncle. He specializes in sending men like you to the gallows." He now took on a sour, disgusted face.

I looked down. I was only wearing my under dress, still stained with dirt and splattered mud. My feet were bare, and I was quite sure I lost my wig sometime on the street. To anyone, I'd look like a thief, or perhaps even worse... a pirate.

"Put that gun down, you might hurt someone," spoke a voice that came from behind. As if on cue, Adelaide strode in, eyes fixed upon a large knot of white thread that she was holding.

"But Mum! Can't you see that there's a thief in our house? He was about to steal one of your teapots." He looked back at her and rolled his eyes, but still kept the rifle at me.

"What?" Adelaide looked up, startled, right from the word, 'teapots'. She put on a cheery smile and went up to pinch my cheek. "That's no thief, Edward, that's your uncle!" Her laugh increased while I inched my face away from her fingers. "Didn't I tell you he was here? No? Ah, Jamie, I suppose you were expecting breakfast. It was my bad; I was at the market. Wicked Bethany raised the price on eggs again. There we go!" She pulled a piece of thread that untangled itself completely.

Edward finally lowered his gun down, actually looking quite disappointed. "Sorry," he murmured, casting his eyes away.

"That's alright. I would've done the same thing." Truthfully, I didn't know what I would've done, but probably would have killed the man straight away. I thanked God that this my nephew didn't have my kind of mind. An awkward silence slightly grew for a few minutes.

"My Goodness, you've grown!" I finally let out a breath and put my hands down.

Rolling off his eyes, Edward turned to put the gun back. The silence started off again until Adelaide set up three plates and fidgeted with the silver wear. It took her long enough for her to make it look right enough to have a meal with. I did help with what I could, but the silence took over again. The whole meal was silent. Adelaide was mostly distant, but barely ate anything. Edward tried to avoid my gaze and stuck to his eggs. I concentrated on my food as well, trying to figure out what was so wrong with the both of them. Perhaps, there was something wrong with me? Yes, of course. Maybe. No. I really didn't know. I didn't know a lot of things right then. However, I did know that I wasn't coming out of bed for a very long time.


	3. Bedridden

Well, I've just finished Chapter 4 after so many days of procrastinating, that means 3 is up! And the Africans are still hungry. If they get enough food, they'll bother me enough to go update again. 

---

Needless to say, I went back to my guest bedroom after that horrible breakfast. Actually, the food improved much. It was enough to comment on how delicious it was. Edward was kind enough to snort, but still show the tiniest smile as he did.

During this time, I detailed my plan even more. I could only stay here for four to ten weeks. Ten was stretching it. More than that, and everyone would have forgotten about me and would care less about my miraculous return. Then, there was the factor of my story. My story would have to be exciting and treacherous, yet actually believable. I'm sure Adelaide wouldn't mind too much. And, in the slim case that her story might get around sooner than mine, they wouldn't believe hers as so much as mine.

The next time someone visited my room again would be near noon, but this time it was Edward.

"Sir, it's time for lunch. Mother would like you to come downstairs." He hung his head low and stood proper with both arms straight at his side.

"Excuse me?" I asked, trying to sound like I had been insulted. My nephew raised his eyes wide. "You are not to call me isir/i. That's simply absurd!"

He looked lost for words. His mouth gaped a few times and his fingers fluttered a bit. "Err, Commodore, then?"

"No," I spoke quickly. "Not... that. Try Uncle. Uncle will do just fine."

Edward nodded, bowing again. "Uncle, Mother would like you to come downstairs for lunch."

I paused for awhile, thinking, before finally speaking my mind. "I'm sorry, but could you please tell her that I'm not hungry at the moment. I really am sorry."

"Oh, err, I will tell her that. Thank you, Sir-erm... Uncle." His head went up and he promptly left.

I think Edward reminded me at that point of more of a little midshipman than a limber young boy. No, not even that. Midshipmen were always laughing foolishly amongst their worthless friends at some cheap pub. It was rare you could find one that was somewhat useful at all.

"Uncle?" The door peeked open a tad. It was Edward again.

"Yes?"

"Do you mind?" He stepped out, but was still looking down. "I'm.. not very hungry either."

"No, no," I pushed myself to sit up from the bed, "Not at all."

He smiled the tiniest bit and carefully sat on a nearby chair. It squeaked slightly. His hair hung down messily below his eyes. And then silence again.

"Edward? Aren't you supposed be apprenticing at your age?" Well, I was wondering. What a great way to break the ice, Norrington.

He finally looked up. "I haven't started anything yet. Mother wants me to finish my schooling first. Father wants me to 'prentice with a cooper. He says coopers will be getting a lot more business in the future."

"And what do you want to do?"

"Sorry?"

"What do you want to do?" I said again. I know, that was very much unlike my normal self, but I couldn't let this perfectly good young man to throw away his life with things like coopering. He was my nephew for God's sake. I didn't know much of him, but I couldn't let him to drop as things as worthless as that. I couldn't let him make a fool of himself like I did.

"Well... when I was younger I wanted to join the Navy, but Father didn't think much of it." (I smiled.) "He kept telling me how dangerous the seas were, with storms and pirates and whatnot. But now what I really want is to do is... erm..."

"What? I won't laugh," I folded my hands courteously.

"I want to be a.. printer."

It's rare that a man quite like myself would ever break his word. I almost did at this, snuffling a chuckle before it came out of my mouth. Edward looked quite embarrassed. From my view, a printer wasn't a very physical trade, and not a really respectful one at that. And, as always, my point of view was shaped from the general public. Newspapers aren't as big here in the Caribbean, seeing that most people don't know how to read. But then again, he was a clever boy from what I've heard. Perhaps he could get some business in the Colonies or back in England if he was lucky. "That's wonderful," I made out, "And you should stick to it."

The boy beamed. "Truthfully? I hadn't told anyone yet. You know, with being nervous about it and whatnot."

"Oh?" Well this really let me down. My nephew's just told me one of his little secrets. That was very precious at the least bit. "Could I tell you something that I hadn't told anyone yet?"

"Yes." He turned on a sweet little boy's smile and held on to the seat of his chair.

"I'm... not a Commodore. Well, not anymore." His smile fell. "In fact, I'm not even a part of the doggone Navy." I tried to grin and laugh, but Edward still gazed on, looking almost frightened.

"But Uncle," he paused, looking down to his toes, "Why?"

And so I told him from the promotion to Commodore, when the problems really happened. I told him of the radiant Elizabeth Swann, and how she ran off with the orphan blacksmith. I told how their little friend, the pirate Jack Sparrow, always seemed to get away with it all. The details about the undead skeletons were cloudy, but I made it through somehow. Then, of how many days and nights I searched for that goddamn Jack Sparrow and the hurricane, which came out easier than expected. And finally, of how I got rid of my life at the Admiral's office, in shame of how I failed in everything. I failed in guiding my crew through an insane storm, in capturing just one man because I decided to be kind one afternoon, and finally, in women. That's what I was, a failure. And now I was telling it to my 11-year-old nephew, in substitution for eating lunch.

"They just threw you out? Just like that? Even though you've been kneeling at their every need for your whole life!" Edward was leaning in so close; he almost fell off his seat.

"Exactly. There were no goodbyes, no pats on the shoulder with a sigh. There was nothing except a kick in the behind and a very thankful grin." I let out a breath and leaned back. "I was being nervous about telling people as well. We have an awful lot in common, Edward."

He smirked slightly. "If we're going to have anything in common, you're going to have to promise me three things."

I stared him in the eye. "And those promises are?"

"First, Mum calls me Eddie. You have to promise never to call me Eddie, ever, even when I'm not around to hear you. I'll do the same with you. I'm sure Jamie isn't very flattering."

I nodded, smiling. "Fair enough. Next?"

"The second is to never ask me for money and expect me to give you some, just because you're family. It's not that I don't like you, because I do. I really do. You can ask me for money and not expect it, but it doesn't work the other way around. It's just that... I always save up my money and my friends mostly depend on me." He looked down and shrugged.

"Done. Completely understandable. And the third?"

"Ah, I haven't thought of a third yet." He grinned. "Two promises aren't as exciting as three. But, when I do think of one, I will tell you right away."

I laughed, nodding again. "That's alright. I, James Paul Norrington, hereby promise these things, sworn under my blood and heart. Agreed?" I took my hand out.

Edward gripped his own hand with mine and gave it a fine shake. "Agreed."


	4. The Fatal Invitation

Hi, hi, people. Yes, those review did help and were all nifty, but I do think it was my part for letting this story like.. die for a bit. I did have this chapter done by the time I put out the Chapter 3, as I always want to be ahead, but I think you all deserve to read this finally, even though a thunderstorm of schoolwork has pounded down on me. Plus, it's like... you just have to read it. xD I can tell you no more. Review please and earn an eternal hug from me. :)

* * *

"Uncle, you've got a visitor!" Edward stuck his head through the doors, looking very excited. And yes, of course it was Edward. As I counted it, it was just past two weeks from when we had become friends and I now knew just about every detail of his life. Most of it was hardly dull, from his adventures around the town and run-ins with criminals to school life and that girl he fancied across the room.

I stared him down with a playful eye. "Surely? You're not kidding me, are you?"

"No," Edward admitted shyly with a slight smile, "not like last time." That was his last scheme to get me out of bed. He had told me the Admiral was at the front door, but was ratted out by his barely hidden chuckles.

"Well then, who is it?"

Edward's mouth shaped to an 'O' as he considered that thought for a moment. He left suddenly, and I listened to his thumping down the stairs, a few moments of silence, and then the thumping back up the stairs.

"It's a messenger," coughed Edward, taking two deep breaths before continuing, "from Governor Swann."

I froze, scaring any witty remarks from my mind. Swann? Finding me here? How long did he know? Who told him that? A spy, most likely. I knew I should've been careful telling things to Edward, he probably slipped. What did that little 'messenger' have to say for him that wasn't important enough for the bloody man to come up in person? By God, what was I going to say! I should just stay mute. It was more believable that I had become bedridden and insane instead of in hiding until I got revenge.

Edward's voice broke in. "Should I tell him to come upstairs?"

"Oh," I paused, "yes." Damned curiosity.

Waiting until Edward was fully out of the doorway, I quickly got to work. I ruffled up my hair and unshaved beard as much as possible. I rubbed my eyes until I was sure they were red and the surrounding skin looked worn. I made my comforter full of bumps and such so it seemed like I did a lot of tossing and screaming while I had my many 'mad' moments.

The slow thuds of a messenger's walk came closer. I set my head and gaze longingly at the window.

"Uncle?" Edward tapped my shoulder, but I didn't dare to look back. "Uncle, the messenger's here." Of course, I couldn't see what he was doing, but I could hear it all. "Ah. Um.. I'll just be outside the door if you need me then." The door clicked shut.

A pause, then the messenger cleared out his voice, starting out slow. It was an older boy, probably with a newly deepened voice. "To: Mr. James Norrington. Governor Weatherby Swann requests the honour of your presence at the marriage of his daughter, Elizabeth Anne..."

The words drowned out. A-a marriage? No. No, it wasn't true. It wasn't.. possible! I was made sure to have Elizabeth as my bride instead of that pirate 'Will, the fantastic orphan blacksmith's apprentice'. Sure, I didn't have quite the heart for Elizabeth as I once did, but how could she take him over i me /i ? A wedding! By God.

"...at 8 o'clo-"

"QUIET!" I spun my head over at the man, eyes sick and overflowing with rage.

"Wha-?"

"BE QUIET AND GET OUT!" My finger pointed straight and conveniently to the exit. I couldn't take it anymore. My nostrils flared and pumped heavy breaths.

The messenger stood there a second, but I could tell he was shrinking in fear.

"Uncle..?" The door cracked open with Edward's nose peeking out. The messenger bolted out through the door the first chance he got. Edward gave a strange questioning look. I pursed my lips, sinking back to my covers and turning my head away.

-

I had to get out. I had to get out fast and soon. It was the dark of the night now, and I'd been listening closely to the noises that hinted at what Edward and Adelaide were doing.. Both of them were in bed now, and had been for almost twenty minutes. It was time to make my escape.

Both of my feet hit the floor gently, but still were sore from being so unused. In a few minutes of softly padding around the room, my legs were stretched back to normal, fitted with newly washed stockings and boots (probably courtesy of Adelaide). I equipped my good old sword belt and fancy sword, my wig found hanging on the back of a chair, and a fine coat from the room's dresser, paid for by three crowns left by myself on the bedside table. After a second thought, I stuck the wig in the coat pocket for safe keeping. To hell with it if it got all crumpled up.

I snuck out of the room swiftly, toeing my way through the hallway. Halfway through it, I stopped. A slit of orange light came from Adelaide's room. It was me being curious again. I set my ear on the door.

"...you know Eddie's becoming such a fine young boy now. It's probably Jamie's interest, he's learning so much from him, you know. Eddie spends most of his time in the guest bedroom, talking away. Oh Edward, you should see your son. He's grown up so much now! Actually, he reminds me of you. He has so many new ideas about his future. They're brilliant ones, too. I spoke with his teacher today, and she was astounded by Eddie's new class participation. Do you hear that? Astounded!"

Adelaide continued on, while I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed the door open slightly with two fingers. My sister was definitely alone there, sitting next to the window. I squinted to see who- or what she was talking too. All I could see was a miniature wooden ship, just sitting there. Adelaide's eyes were glazed over as she grinned and spoke so vibrantly to it.

I backed away, filled with guilt. I had always known my sister was batty, but not so much as this. She was always a simple girl, and was such now. She was a simple girl who loved so dearly, that she couldn't stand it so much to see her husband go off in the Navy, fighting pirates and the like. I travelled back to the guest bedroom, finding a pen and a scrap of paper.

The note I wrote next looked fine enough. I was sad to leave it, but I had to go now. There were to be no more delays. I silently sped through the hallway and down the stairs. My head swore as I looked back.

"Uncle!" Edward walked timidly towards me. "You're.. leaving?" His eyes dropped down to his toes again.

I lifted his chin up and stared my eyes into his. "I have to go. I couldn't stay here, making your mother put up like a nobody like me."

"You're not a nobody." He swallowed his tears. "Plus, you still have to promise me one more thing."

We matched tearful smiles. "Anything."

"Promise me that you'll come back."

I hugged him close, and he pressed his head to my chest. "I promise."

With that, I left out the main door, having only once to look back.

_Dear Addie,_

_I'm sorry I couldn't stay, but I don't  
belong here. To stay here forever,  
depending on you would just be more  
than a burden than a blessing. Take  
good care of Edward Senior and  
Junior both, which I will expect to be  
no problem at all. Thank you so much  
for the food, lodging and basically  
treating me like a baby doll for these  
past two weeks. I will miss you terribly._

_  
Your beloved brother,_

_  
Jamie_


	5. Unintended Recruitment

A/N: Yeah, I know, long time since another chapter. Would've gotten this one up sooner, but was giving me such a hard time. Good news is, the next chapter is my favorite, or so it is how I planned it. Somewhat good news, that may be slightly better is that I'm almost done with a one-shot that relates directly to this story, so you can practically consider it another chapter coming up very soon. Oh yes, I am very thankful for all your reviews, although the Africans have banished me from their camp for the next day. sigh

* * *

It was a surprisingly cool night in Kingston. It had rained for a nearly a week, as leftovers from a hurricane. Now it was completely silent except for the singsong band of frogs that enveloped the island. Just the moonlight and a few forgotten torches lit my way to the docks.

Meanwhile, back in my head, thoughts danced about, colliding with each other and scrambling to make the tiniest bit of sense. They all failed. I was feeling remorse for abandoning poor Edward- just the look on his face... I had to go; I could not stay at all. I had to go and relieve myself of this ungrateful status. I bitterly sucked a piece of thick air.

My boots led me directly to where I wished to go. It was the place that no Navy man that I have met would ever take his post, except on the most strict of orders. It was where the most respectful of men would only speak about with a spit, but where the bravest of men would tremble their knees at the very sight of it. It was the fishing docks.

The reason why the fishing docks were of so low respect was mainly the smell. Yes, many ugly fishermen spend their days here, but the place is a mixed stench of dead fish, spoiled bait, blood, and sweat. The combination of these four items produces an unknown, and unstable material. Only few know that the larger ships provide a free trip about the Caribbean for a bit of light labour.

"You there, man!" I called to an outline of a man in a fairly large ship. The smoke from his pipe blew in and out of the light.

His head turned slightly, and the moon went to his back. The man had muscles, but kept through with a lean body. "Who there, man?" The pipe dropped to his side.

"I was thinking perhaps I would get a ride on your fair...craft," I glanced over to the side. It was a fair boat for catching fish, but nothing fit to seriously go on in the sea. I regretted asking immediately.

The pipe pressed between his lips. "Oh, ye were, were yeh? Haven't no hitchers in a- a," the man bent over, hacking out a cough. A few moments later, he caught himself again. "Depends wot ye've the cir-com-sta-ce-s are," he added, sounding out the entire word as if he were in a grammar class. "Where be ye going?"

"The very next port you stop at, excluding here and Port Royal. And I'll need your word that the next time I'm on land, it is in no more than a week."

He tapped his brush of hair on his chin very animatedly. "Oy, oy, proper man here, en't? Tell me, what be yer experience?"

A moment's pause before I stepped into the light. The man's face flashed wide.

"Weh demmed am I! Knew was it 'oo from t'e start, with all yeh wordings and yeh. Last time I saw 'oo, 'oo were at eh party, making fancy with t'e girls, an' having t'e time of yeh life. Capt Norry. Suppose yer Com-uh-dur, is right that?" The man chuckled, blowing out smoke again.

I set my lip in stiffly. "Actually," I paused, "no. I've resigned from the Navy." Of course, if this man hadn't heard what happened to me yet, he probably was sure to know soon enough.

He stifled a chuckle. It couldn't be held and his teeth flashed, bursting out in a full laughter. I scowled the whole time, until his coughs caught up with him and he could recover with a straight face. That took a few minutes. "Norry, well, I believe yeh swathe the rec-cue-ments." He broke his straight face and sniggered again. "I'll be Captain Burkee. Come up an' let ma face see 'oo."

I got myself on the deck with a charismatic smile. Within an hour of the old man hacking away his mouth in the closet-spaced Captain's quarters, I was signed on to _The Parrot's Crumpet_ through a carefully made contract. I only had to stay on the.. thing for a few days to the next port, which hardly mattered.

"Here, come, see t'e crew!" Captain Burkee grinned brightly, although I'm not quite sure why. He led me below deck, where the muck and mould ruled. "I'll em themselves introduce," he chuckled once more, throwing me down the last flight of stairs. His laugh echoed as he climbed back up to the surface.

I stood from my fall. Apparently, all the other crew members were standing as well, silent with unbroken stares. I stared back at them. One of the men who I could tell was holding in giggles now broke out in laughter. The others fitfully joined them. Crossing my arms, I waited yet again for them to quiet down.

"Might anyone tell me what you think is so very hilarious?" said I in a stubborn tone.

The largest man spoke first. "Foremost, it's you.. And you're.. you're not..!" He couldn't help himself and continued laughing once again.

"Thank you, I already knew that much. Apparently your captain didn't though, until I told him."

"Oh ho!" His eyes grew wide. "You've been mistaken, Norrington. Everyone knows about your resignation. They've been mighty glad to get rid of you. We've been taking bets with the Captain on how long it would take for you to come whining back for your job!" His fits of laughter fit between every few words while I enjoyed the breath of fresh grammar.

"I'm afraid I won't be going back anytime soon." I stiffened up my bottom lip, disappointed that my plan had mostly crumbled to pieces. At least I was getting a free ride. "But that isn't exactly the joke of the century, is it?" I questioned.

"No, no, no! That wasn't the joke of the century, but this is.." The man bellowed aloud with howls of laughter and couldn't go on anymore.

My eyes glanced around the room. None of them seemed fit enough to speak.

"Eh Norry-Norry!" A dark, skinny man from the corner answered. "Aren't so cleva' after all? Look 'round. 'Oo're on a pirate ship."

---

Perhaps one of my proudest moments in my life was the day I had been promoted to Lieutenant. I'm not sure I was so concerned about the actual wage, or the rank itself. To me, Lieutenant was a godly moment when I'd be rid of a such waste of time as scrubbing the deck.

"Ah, Commodore? You're missin' a spa- Ah, just there! Hoy!" The men- no, pirates- dissolved into laughter again, holding their stomachs with a relaxed pose onto the rail. I would give a lot to see that rail just disappear. To them, I was more than just a maid replacing their chores, but also for sheer entertainment to pass their days at sea.

I slapped the rag to the spot the one had pointed out, inching my knees up as I did. As much as I wanted to slap that rag on their faces, I could not speak a word. The contract I had signed just a few days ago had stated that any disobedience would immediately make it void, including my slight chance of getting on land again. Wait- what was I thinking? Did I even think for a moment that these pirates would ever even let me off the ship? No, I was too valuable to them, cleaning out their ship, giving an occasional laugh to the boys. Why would they ever let me go?

I spent the next four days thinking this. I tried to be positive, but the only thing I was grateful for was the air full of sea spray and the waves that rocked me to sleep. But then again, with all the misfortunes that I had to endure since I had left the Navy, death was a comparable alternative. As I swept the deck, slept on a plank of wood Captain Burkee offered me, and swallowed the mockings of his morbid crew, I still clung to the small spark of hope that fate would take a route up north. Funnily enough, it did not. But the _The Parrot's Crumpet_ actually did.


	6. A Spit of Freedom

A/N: So, that was a while from the last chapter, but I did submit that short story about Norrington's young adult days of wedding engagements and such. Although, that thing that connected "A Past Love" (that short story) to this story did not make it into this chapter, but will totally dominate the next chapter, so you'd probably want to read "A Past Love" to understand next chapter better. I think the next will be my favorite, as well. I've been waiting to write it forever! Oh, and I think it's exciting that I began and ended this chapter with the same word. But, it may seem less exciting to you. Enjoy! And review! The Africans have agreed to let me sleep inside for tonight as long as I get many positive reviews with exclamation marks in them!

* * *

"Nassau!"

I widened my eyes and quickly scrambled from my slave chores on the deck. Surely enough, the pirate port in the distance was coming steadily closer. Each of the crewmembers worked left and right, preparing to anchor. Nassau? Were they serious? I didn't dare ask. It took ten days to sail near the tip of Florida. I silently cursed the ship. A trip from Kingston to Nassau should have taken five days at the most.

"Hoy! What's you doing up here?" a darkly tanned pirate (whose name I learned was Mr. Daniel Jensen) bellowed at me. "You're supposed to be cleaning below deck today!"

I set my lip and further explored his limits. "I thought that perhaps I could help prepare for our arrival, rather than tidying the galley. I suspect we'll be eating on land today?"

Mr. Jensen glowered at me. "What's this 'we' business? _You're_ not going anywhere. Do you think we're that daft? Now get down where you belong!" He shoved me down the stairs.

"I wouldn't think you were so daft if that was not the case," I stepped back up, facing the creature straight in the face. I had to get on that island. "Any man worth a rat's ass would know that my ransom value would be greater than any slavery you could put me through."

"Wrong again, Norry-tin. No one wants you back 'home'. We're doing you a favor by letting you live in our luxuries."

I breathed with a great rustle of fury. "You call yourself a pirate? You don't even disgust me." Determination can be an ugly thing. My throat coughed up something repulsive and I spat it into his face.

By this time, many of the surrounding pirates had stopped their shuffling and gathered around the two of us. I could only think that they wanted to know just how far Mr. Jensen could be pushed. It wasn't much father than how far my spit had traveled. The man's cheeks blew up in fury.

"Avast yerselfs!"

It was the captain's voice. A whip came down upon my wrist, and I obeyed like a little puppy, stepping backwards from my half a minute of glory. My other hand grasped the wound, pinching it to make the blood stop sooner or later. Still, it was not so terrible. I've had worse from a pirate.

That old man, Burkee stepped in between Mr. Jensen and myself. "'Scuse, did them not teach ye respect in that Navy of ye's?"

"They taught me to respect respectable men. I don't see how that applies to this occasion," I spoke roughly.

I didn't dare look at the captain, but I could feel his breath swelling with anger. He stomped his one foot on the wood like a spoiled toddler. "Clap dez.. dez scum in irons!" Burkee cried out to the sky.

Not one of his crewmembers moved. I could see from the corner of my eye that two of them were pushing another forward, but were faced with much resistance. Finally, the unlucky one timidly came up next to his higher authority.

"Captain Burkee, sir. We 'aven't no irons. S-swapped them for fresh papayas off of New Spain. Den't you 'member?"

I tried not to laugh. What sort of captain would be down to shackles to trade for food? A bad one, that's who. The captain ignored me and furrowed his eyebrows. "Why in Davy Jones' nah-me would we do tha'?"

"Oh, we's at days without food." The sailor swallowed. "There was that nasty storm that wet our flour, and maggots in everythin' else. Had to-"

"Shut ye's! Now, I do 'member. Nevermind it, I 'ave some irons in meh quarters, under meh mattress." He motioned for a tall, lanky pirate to go fetch them for him.

"Why do you keep them under-" someone began.

Captain Burkee stared back furiously. "That is noon of your busy-ness! Now get back to work! All of ye's!"

So, all of the men did go back to work, seemingly afraid of such a foolish man.

Within a few moments from that strange event, I was guided to one dark and cramped room. I had my irons clamped on to me and wrapped around one of the ceiling's wooden beams. It was a extra special punishment, since my arms would probably ache from being held above my head for so long, and the lack of fresh air that came into the room. I could just imagine it getting more and more humid, the salty air filling my lungs, and me dieing from the severe lack of oxygen before I could drown.

This was it. This was the best time to escape this wreckage of pirates. If I did not survive and leave from this now, I probably would have to become a criminal myself. I hoped there was an only minute chance that that would happen. Yes, but first, I had to get out.

I surveyed my surroundings, kicking around so I could feel the space of the room. It was smaller than I had assumed, not much larger than a closet. Some cannonballs were stacked up in a corner box as to prevent them from rolling around. I could feel two barrels, presumably for gunpowder and other such materials. It was a room that could very much help anyone that actually had the use of their arms.

I looked up, searching for another solution. My eyes shone with delight. Yes, there it was. The beam was wooden, and my irons were.. iron. I set my feet around the top of the wall and started rubbing my shackles up and down against the bar. A small shave of wood fell against my cheek. I grinned. With luck, I could be free in a few hours, when the ship would be safely anchored in Nassau. It worked out perfectly, like a sweet dessert.

I kept on shaving the beam for the next few hours with many breaks in between. The determination kept me working. I was working for my freedom. Nevermind that breaking the ship's skeleton would probably ruin it forever; they should have let James Norrington go. They should have knew the consequences. They should have-

A knock came from the door. "Norrington? Are you occupied at the moment?" It was the low voice of one of the pirates-- that very large man with better grammar than all the rest.

My feet fell down in exhaustion. Had they heard my kicks and scratches, coming up with a better-suited environment for my punishment?

"No, not particularly occupied," I said, trying not too be entirely too rude.

The door opened, and the pirate came inside. He held no weapon, nor did he look violent in any way. His expression was actually very... very pleasant. His eyes wandered up to my escape plan above. "You eat wood like a bug, don't you?"

I became very confused at this point, and I'm not sure if my expression stayed stern, or turned to bewildered. It almost seemed like he wanted to help me get out.

"You need not say anything," said the pirate, calmly fishing a ring of keys out of his pocket, "except thank you, perhaps." He reached up to my hands.

I immediately moved my shackles away. "Excuse me, I demand to know where I'll be taken." His friendly attitude would not fool me.

"It doesn't matter where you'll be taken. You can decide that yourself, whether it be your mummy or another pirate ship. Now get those irons here so I can take them off already!" He furrowed his eyebrows and moved towards my hands with his keys again.

How curious. Was he really trying to help me? I held my hands loose, giving him a clean shot with the keys. At least if it was a trick, I'd have a fair chance of fighting him off. "A question, though. Why?"

He smirked while thinking for a moment. "You're the best thing that ever happened to this damned crew. Think of how much a pirate's spirit lifts when they say, 'Commodore Norrington works on _my_ pirate ship.' You're worth more than a little pillage or two, I can tell you that much." His keys finally snapped the lock open, and I climbed down from my prison.

He continued, "Now, say the Commodore were to escape said ship. Oh, the crew would be mad. And, they would be mad at the only person they can blame, their-"

"Captain," I finished. Genius. This man had a heart and a brain. These crew were people after all. They knew when they had a bad captain or not. I rubbed my wrists where they were marked with sores. "Pardon me for asking, but have you ever considered mutiny instead of plotting in such an extensive way?"

"Much of the crew don't quite understand the process of mutiny. They don't have the heart to strand their former leader out in the middle of the sea. And, Burkee hasn't done anything that would severely anger the crew. Yet," he smiled again.

I was still bewildered, but I stood upright, more energized than I was before. "Thank you, kindly. I owe you my life," said I. Here I was, thanking a pirate for granting me freedom. I would ask myself how I had gotten in to such a situation if I was not reminded by a passing memory every few moments.

"I don't mind. I'll thank you, I suppose. Pay me back when I need it, which will probably not be anytime soon. Good luck, Norrington," he took my hand and shook it firmly.

"Good luck," I mirrored, gripping his hand.

A few moments more, I was back to adapting my sealegs to land. The thought of freedom from a pirate's kindness was still trying to get through to me. The sky was dark, but with only a few hours until dawn. Yet, the street was well lit with the sounds of laughter, the _clinks_ of glass, and the stench of vomit. I had just had a blessing, but other problems soon arose. I only thought of the most meaningless at the time. How in the world was I going to get myself off Nassau?


	7. No Providence Island

A/N: Well, here it is, my favorite chap. I wrote it in about a day, which is really very fast for me. And the good news is the next chap only needs editing, so keep those reviews coming and I'll update early! And yes, the Africans have given me a few nights inside the tent and beef vegetable soup to eat. Though, I'm not sure if it's actual beef.. Are there cows in Africa?

* * *

I strangely remember my first encounter with the Caribbean's most popular drink back when I had first arrived in the area. My friend (or rather, person I was acquainted with) had ordered us both a glass and told of how many man that he knew of that had lost their souls to the substance, then without a word more, downed his drink with a straight gulp. I was both disturbed, amazed, and have tried to avoid the drink ever since. It was quite hard though, as I was stationed in a port known for its sugarcane and essentially, rum.

I needed a drink. I needed a drink quite badly. My feet had wandered themselves to the nearest pub and I quietly sat at the bar, directing my attention away from the scum that lay around me. The owner had noticed me and I simply held one finger up, which was enough to set him off to get me a little something as I pondered my existence in such a place.

The bartender soon came with my glass of rum. I dug my fingers into my pockets to find nothing but my wig. Damn! Those pirates even looted my coat when I wasn't looking. I soon noticed that the bartender was starting to look larger and darker as I desperately searched myself for any sort of coin as payment.

"You're a pretty face." A hand slid a few pennies to the man, who picked it up and finally walked away.

I sighed in relief. "Thank you, I-" My eyes opened wide as I looked to the owner of the voice and hand, who turned out actually to be a woman. She was quite plump and wore a bright yellow dress that laced with a dirty white at the edges. Her hair was slightly wavy, light brown that glinted orange in the light, and flowed down. Her hair flowed down right to the place I tried my best to call my attention away from. Her cleavage deep, more than I ever thought possible without.. well, without bursting open.

Two dimples formed in her cheeks as she smiled. "You're very welcome. It's just that... you're quite cute, don't you think?" Her face came closer and I could feel her breath upon me. I started to recite a prayer in my head.

"In fact," she said, "you look even too good to be in a place like this. What's your name?" I could feel her hand being placed upon my knee, slowly gliding up my thigh. _On Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread..._

"James," my mouth slipped. My scheme for being disguised had failed. My heart was beating too wildly. _And forgive us our trespasses..._

The prostitute had an even better look of pleasure about herself. "James, that's-" She stopped suddenly, and her whole body went rigid. Her eyes grew large, and I'd almost swear that they turned red. "GODDAMN IT!"

"JAMES? JAMES NORRINGTON?! JAMES GODDAMN NORRINGTON!" she shrieked with such force as to knock me over. I tried to prop myself up from the dirt, but I didn't dare to stand. I needed that prayer more than ever now.

"How DARE you?" she continued on, "How DARE you just leave me there, James?" She now was in a power stance, her fingers curled as to attack some small unsuspecting creature if it happened to get in her way.

"Anne-" I started.

"You said you LOVED me, James! You SAID you LOVED me!" Anne furiously took an empty bottle the bar and thrust it at my face. I ducked, and it missed, crashing behind me. "How COULD you? How DARE you?"

Thankfully, the man she had stole the bottle from stepped in, "C'mon, luv. Wouldn't ye want to settle this outside, where ye could really git a beating to 'im?"

Anne ignored him, grasping another bottle. I shielded my face with both arms, and heard a shatter a bit to my left. "I was supposed to be MARRIED! Mrs. GODDAMN NORRINGTON!" she screeched with a growl afterwards.

Men dropped their drinks and rushed up to grab her by the elbows while she still thrashed towards me with the strength of a monster. Much to my dismay, they grabbed me as well and threw us both out into the street.

I landed first and she collapsed on top of me. But now, she did not yell as tears streamed down her face. I could feel her whole body go limp with sorrow and the severe longing to be in my arms.

"I-I waited for y-you, James," she choked. "So many asked for my h-hand. Even Charles d-did. But I said, 'My James will come back for me, you'll see!' And when you didn't, I..." Her words turned to sobs and she buried her face into my coat. I tenderly put my arms around her, feeling the fear that I had looked away from for so many years.

Anne swallowed, trying to resume her words. "I had n-no money to keep searching." She shuddered, bringing on a new set of tears. "Look at me, James. Look what I am! This.. creature!" she cried. I looked, remembering the cleavage that had taken my interest just a few moments ago.

My eyes began to weep, and I brought her closer, burying my own face into her dress. How many times had I felt the burden of that rash decision? How many times did I wonder what my bride-to-be was doing? How many children she had now? What was her husband like? Does he treat her better than what I would have? But no, Anne bore no children and never had a husband of her own. She was a prostitute because of what I had done to her.

"I'm sorry," I made out with a short breath. We both continued to sob, both in each other's arms. I heard a few horses passing by, each ignoring our presence. We both wept for a long time before either of us spoke a word.

It was Anne who spoke. "I still love you," she said. She resumed her weeping and I resumed my weeping I chose my turn to speak.

"I'm sorry..." I repeated, "for leaving you again." I gave a kiss to her cheek and began to stand up.

Anne cried more, oblivious to what was happening. My arms left her, and she cried alone on her knees.

I swallowed my tears and wiped what was left with my sleeve. She looked up to me, face red and distressed and I could feel her pain within her very eyes. I took a few steps up the street with heavy breaths before I heard the scream. It was not of despair, but of fury.

A gunshot boomed past me. I looked back. Anne was now standing, but now with a pistol in her hand. I had a passing thought of wonder in how she acquired such a weapon before I ran. However, this time, I knew exactly where I was going.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME AGAIN?!" the monster yelled. She ran after me, firearm pointed at my general direction. I, however, was not wearing a dress and therefore could run faster. Anne, realizing this, shot at me again. A scream came when she found that she missed.

I looked back to get one last look at her and saw that she had given up, and sat down in the middle of the road. I still ran, although slower to take breaths and heard one final shot just as I reached the docks. I climbed aboard _The Parrot's Crumpet_, went down below the deck, found that closet, and promptly clamped myself in the irons. It was here that I would be safe.

I did not know how long I stayed I stayed prisoner in that room, as I fell asleep shortly afterwards. But, I woke as a small group of men came through the door and unlocked me from my irons. They each had looks of depression on their faces. There did happen to be the man with good grammar with them, confused that I was still there, but said nothing.

"Leaving so soon?" I asked, trying to divert their attention away from the grating of wood I had done last night.

"Some wench was found dead in the street this morning. Capt. say it isn't worth it to stay around in such commotion," said one.

"But there en't no murderer in Nassau!" another tried to explain. "It's clear that them pretty ladies both killed themselves. We can stay here 'nother month and I bet 'oo, no more deaths and no one'll acuse us that we dunnit."

The pirates exchanged a few more words as they brought up on deck. Fortunately, none of them noticed the clammy white skin that graced my face. The thought of Anne's body haunted my sight. Why? How could I? She would have been better off without me, my mind kept repeating that familiar phrase. I closed my eyes tightly to shut out the tears as I came to realize my deed.

I hadn't even told her that I still loved her back.


	8. Bataille

A/N: Amazing! Three reviews in one day! I could have never imagined that to happen.. ever! Then, four overall for one chapter. It makes me happy just to have two reviews per chap, so now I'm like.. woah on drugs. xD So, I decided to update early. And a little heads up, this chapter does have some pretty hardcore language, so I advise those with galiophobia and xenoglossophobia should be warned. Oh, and yeah, the Africans are supposed to be the ones that need feeding, but I'm human, alright? They have become addicted on reviews and will not take any other form of nourishment.

* * *

My whole body ached. It was besides the fact that my arms were now twisted back and chained tightly behind the mainmast. The pirates still didn't trust me enough to let me walk. How many lives have to be wasted from the fault of mine? I could not even acknowledge the fate of my dear Anne. Adelaide was another. Adelaide probably would have turned out like a smart, beautiful woman. Instead, she had turned out with the mind that could only be appreciated in Bedlam. Then, my nephew- poor Edward! Marooned with no real family but half of a mother. I had even promised him that I would come back. How could I have been so foolish? No mention to countless other relatives, and the few friends that I made over the years. They all could have turned out to better people. 

I hung my head the lowest I could, but the way I was stuck on the mast, it was quite difficult. Suicide was a considerable option, although I had nothing sharp to bleed myself with. I stared up at the bright blue sky, mocking me. The sun beat down on my forehead and shoulders, reminding me more my unfortunate situation of still living. I then looked into that sun. Maybe if I was blind, the Lord would spare some mercy on my soul.

I quickly looked away and squeezed my eyes shut. The pain wasn't worth it. Perhaps it would also be harder to kill myself if I could not see. I was a failure, even in the ways I chose to end my life. I snapped my head back against the mast to find a refreshing surprise. The wood was somewhat hard. Maybe if I rammed my skull into it enough, it would begin to bleed. I smacked it once, then again and again in a monotonous fashion. It was astonishingly delightful.

"HOY! STOP IT!"

My eyes stared up once more, now to the crow's nest, where the scratchy voice had come from. Apparently, the watchman had finally woken from his slumber. I did obey, seeing that that method would not be successful.

But the watchman yelled again, "HOY! YONDER! NORTH, NORTHWEST!"

My neck craned left, and I widened my eyes at the clear outline of a ship. But, it was not just _a _ship. Within a few seconds, I could identify it almost completely. I could clearly see from the shape of the sails, the look of the wood, and the colors of the flag they flew, and I breathed a breath or gratefulness. The shape of it was smooth, the bowspirit long, bringing a sense of grace to it all. It was large and beautiful, and slightly comparable to the _Interceptor_. God had spared me my soul and sent a blessing in the form of a merchant ship of a country none other than France.

A shout came from my side. "To yer posts! Fly 'er colors!" cried Burkee. "'m hungry for French blood today!"

---

We neared the ship slowly, but nevertheless did approach them from her afterward. She had apparently been anchored and waited for us, who had the forged stripes of blue, white, and red flown on our flag. At long last, I could see the faces of some of their men, and Burkee was satisfied.

The captain waved to the man next to him, who pulled the French flag down and pulled a bright scarlet one up. I hoped these French knew English signs. Then, hey would know that a red jolly roger flag meant no mercy; no souls would be spared.

"_Le Jolie Rouge! Le Jolie Rouge!_" were the cries I heard from the other side. They now did not just watch, but scrambled around, ducking and running down to their gun deck.

Burkee bellowed, "CAREEN 'ER OVER TER STARBOARD AND FIRE AT WILL!" The pirate crew obeyed readily, turning sharply over to have the cannons face the French ship, making many of the men lose their balance, sliding to one side. If I was not tied up, I would have needed something to grab on to keep from piling backwards.

The guns did fire at will, with booms at random times with matching yells of excitement. Many aimed too high due to the careening. There was absolutely no form to anything they did.

While pirates reloaded, the French had already organized themselves at their cannons and one man in a fancy coat declared, "_Attaque!_"

_The Parrot's Crumpet_ groaned fiercely. Crashes, echoes of booms, and screams filled the air, their owners ducking their heads close to the deck. Most of the cannonballs had hit the sides, and one even stroke the mizzenmast in my front. The wonderful scent of gunpowder filled my lungs once again. Oh yes, there was a God!

I myself tried to lower myself as much as I could. It would not do much if I was dead before I attempted revenge. Before the pirates or I could do anything else, another layer of explosions came toward us. This time, it broke the mizzenmast it had scathed before, and had created many other holes in the deck around me. I dodged a large splinter that flew towards my head. The French ship towered over the other, making an image in my head that resembled a grand fish against a minnow.

Above the variety of cries and other noises, I could hear a man shouting. "Shan't we strike our colors, Capt?"

"NO!" Burkee barked back. "I SHALL NEVER SURRENDER!"

A foolish man, such a foolish man, because at that moment a bit of red rose above all the smoke. Obviously, the French knew what a red flag mean, because they now pulled up a pretty red flag right next to their flag of nationality.

"The Jolly Roger! The Jolly Roger!" were the cries I heard from my side.

For the first time, when I looked upon the pirate captain, I saw a real look of fear in his eyes as he looked upon that red flag. I silently grinned inside. Within the next few moments, the pirate crew fired their guns once more, but few of them hit. But this did nothing to the French, as they already came up with their own battle cries and swung with their ropes on to _The Parrot's Crumpet_.

The skinny, dainty French smallswords plunged deeply into stomachs and slit throats. I squeezed my eyes shut at the sight, but still heard the grunts of their last breaths. Every man that dropped to the floor wore a filthy shirt or none at all. The pirates could never match up to men under the servitude of such a country.

By the time I opened my eyes again, corpses lay all about me and the cries had subsided. The former captain lay a little ways behind me, as well off as most of his crew. I whispered a small prayer for them. Actually, an extremely small prayer of about five words. But, it was nevertheless a prayer.

The silence soothed my ears and I observed the ship. Most of the men that were still standing had light blue coats on, hats, and were slowly strolling around in their stockings, surveying the ship for living souls. It was a wonder no one tried to kill me yet. The tall one with the fancy coat, the captain, called out something to his crew and strolled on back to his own ship.

My limbs were disabled, and now all I had was my voice. "Wait! Wait!!" I called to him. "I'm a prisoner! _Je suis prisonnier!_"

The captain pivoted back with a faint look of interest, but mostly stayed professional. His stature looked even taller than before, and I could see he was quite old, but still had the spring in his step. He noticed my coat and took a slight look behind the mast over to the two gold bands on my sleeves.

"_Un lieutenant? De l'Angleterre?_" he asked with a strong voice. I translated it back into my head. A lieutenant? Of England? Thank the Lord I had tried to learn French in preparation for my next promotion back in the Navy.

"_Oui, capitaine._" Yes, Captain. I nodded vigorously, thankful that he would recognize my brother-in-law's stripes.

The official studied me with his eyes furrowed, then paused for a moment, muttering to himself in French. After a long pause, he spoke, "_Répondez-moi Lieutenant, qui est le fondateur de marine de l'Angleterre_?" Tell me Lieutenant, who is the founder of England's Navy?

That was easy. "Alfred the Great," I answered quickly, "_Alfred le Grand_."

He nodded. "_Correct. Trés bien. Répondez-moi encore, Ce qui est l'onzième partie du code?_" Correct. Very good. Tell me again, what is the... part of the code? I ran the words over in my head. _l'onzième.. _Eleven! What is the eleventh part of the code?

My heartbeat quickened. Code? What code? "_Quel code_?"

"Le _code. Vous le savez,_" he answered with his brows furrowed. _The _code. You know it.

I lowered my eyes from his deathly stare and searched my mind for all the codes he was referring to. Code of the Navy? Code of courtesy? Code of war? Code of nations? Code... code...? What goddamn code?!

"_Vous volez mon temps! Quelle est votre réponse?!_" You're wasting my time! What is your answer?!

I swallowed. "_Excusez-moi monsieur,_" I said slowly, stumbling over my words, "_Mais je ne sais pas la r-réponse. Jetez-moi à la mer si... v-vous voulez._" My breath drew in and then out again. Excuse me sir, but I don't know the answer. Cast me into the sea if you wish.

The captain laughed. "_Encore correct!_" Correct again! He then barked at one of his men then spoke a string of French words that I could not understand. The man quickly asked something back. The captain laughed again.

"_Non! Cet homme n'est sûrement pas un voleur! Il ne sait pas le code du voleur!_" No! This man is surely not a pirate! He doesn't even know the pirate's code! My heart exploded with joy.

"_Veiller!_" he suddenly turned to me, "_Lieutenant,_ _êtes-vous le seul prisonnier?_" Wait! Lieutenant, are you the only prisoner?

A shout suddenly invaded my ears. "Hey, hey!" I looked. It was the pirate with the good grammar, now being dragged out on to the deck with two French men. There was another on the side of him wiping his sword. "Norrington, please don't leave me here! Please, please! Have mercy! It's all I ask for!"

I turn away from the sight. "_Oui, Capitaine. Seulement je._" Yes, Captain. Only myself.

The swish of a blade came and a scream rang out for only a second afterwards. How many lives have to be wasted from the fault of mine? Too many to count. A simple man could not account for how many lives were ended by me. One must know that some souls are worth more than others.


	9. From Gladiator to Swordfish

A/N: For those wondering, England and France were not in a war in this point in time (1730, so says I..). And.. now there is little French for those who find it annoying. But, I like to read it aloud in a high squeaky voice really fast like Japanese. Or something. It's funny, try it. At the point of writing this, I'm about two or so chapters until I finish the whole story, which is somehow very depressing. I think I'll go cry. The Africans still need nourishing. Look at this poor child, here. Ooh, oh! She's hungry! Feed her! ..Please?

* * *

I found that the French ship was even more of a paradise when I had been escorted on to it. The deck I stepped upon was clean and had no stench. The waves could not sway the vessel as much as on the pirate ship. It so much that it was almost like arriving on land and using your legs for the first time upon soil. Heavenly and paradise were the only two words I could use to describe it. Finally, I had increased my chance for hope and decreased my chance of being killed in my sleep. 

To my right was the man that the captain called upon to take me to their ship. I looked upon him intently, but he did not acknowledge me. He was stout and short compared to other sea-faring men and his grumbles told me that he disliked the idea of having an Englishman as a guest.

"_Monsieur,_" I asked suddenly, "_y a-t-il des marins qui parlent anglais?_" Sir, is there anyone who speaks English?

He grunted, pointing to one young sailor who was busy sweeping up the little debris that the battle had caused. My escort tapped him on the shoulder and spoke something in a commanding voice, making the younger sailor jump and turn towards me.

"Yes, I speak small English," he said with a thick accent.

I sighed. I was better off racking my brain to try to speak their language. "Sorry, but what's the name of this ship? And where are you coming from?"

The sailor pondered the thought for a second then began stumbling over words. "The n-name of the ship is _L'espadon_. We come to... eh... from New Orleans. We bring animal hair... ah... fur to France." He grinned, pleased at his work and apparent brainpower.

I let out a breath again and nodded, murmuring a thank you. I really was not about to start up a conversation with someone who took a minute for each time he had to figure out a word. I already knew anything that I would need to know. A French merchant ship named _The Swordfish_ going from New Orleans to France. That was easy enough to remember. The wind and tides would be bringing us up to the colonies. They would probably drop me off in Georgia, or South Carolina if I was lucky. Perfect. I had a few days, perhaps a week until I had to depart this piece of heaven.

The man who was previously at my right was at my right no more, nor did I see him anywhere on deck. The young sailor soon moved on to sweep another part of the ship. So, I leaned upon the railing and looked out actually looked out to the sea for the first time in a long time.

The water is always so beautiful around the Caribbean. As much as I liked working on a ship near English waters, I loved it doubly so in this area. Even when you don't see that crystal blue water, you see the bright blue sky right above to counteract it.

My thoughts wandered and a groan came from my side. I jumped. An image of Anne kneeling down came at my feet. Her hair and dress wet and tasseled, her eyes were worn and red. She wept, moaning with no complete words. Her gaze at me was of complete sorrow and I had to look away. When I looked back, the image was gone, but the sounds of her sobs echoed in my head.

Why did my mind fool with me so? Perhaps it was the heat. Yes, that was it. No one really noticed me as I climbed below deck. I found a barrel of water, drank it out of my hands, then splashed the rest in my face. It cooled my cheeks for the time being, and I stayed out of the sun for the rest of the day.

Through the few hours that I stayed below, I learned much of that ways of these sailors. Only a few of them spent time relaxing in their quarters and they only tried to make small talk with me. It was as if they picked up random people from pirate ships all the time. The sky was red and the sun beginning to set when bland state of mind was interrupted.

The stout and short man came to me, saying the captain had requested my presence at dinner. Of course, I accepted and he immediately took me up to captain's cabin as if he already knew that I had no choice but to come.

The dinner table was fairly short with two other men seated, plus my previous escort and the captain, who was at the head of the table. No one spoke to me when I placed myself in the only seat left. A servant came and dressed our plates with fish and wine. They chatted quietly about the valuables gained from _The Parrot's Crumpet_. It wasn't much, just some food and unused war supplies. After the raid, they had apparently sunk it. That wasn't much of a surprise

Conversation had eventually subsided with only the sound of silverware clinking. Finally, the captain had noticed me and said something to the man in between us.

"He asks of your name. It had only occurred to him right now that he hasn't known it before," he said.

I raised my eyebrows, impressed. "You speak English well." He made no reaction to this and continued chewing. "My name is Edward Hurst," I remembered to lie, "May I ask his?"

He spoke something to the captain, who only nodded, fairly uninterested. "His name is Remy Charrier, and my name is Henry Pierson, but you can call me Mr. Pierson. You'll be talking to me more than him," Mr. Pierson answered calmly.

"You are English, then?" I asked. He must be with a name like Henry. "How did you become to be a French merchant?"

Mr. Pierson swallowed a sip from his cup. "I was tired of the English. You know, they almost never bring out wine unless it's a special occasion. You spend some time with a Frenchman and you see the almost careless way of life compared to the workhorse a usual man of your kind would be."

I nodded and almost laughed. Yes, that would describe it. He even thinks of himself as French. How peculiar.

Another pause of silence rang out through the meal. "This _is_ some fine wine," I commented politely, taking in a sip.

The captain leaned over to his translator, who spoke it to him in French, only making the captain grunt and nod again. "Only the best," Pierson replied. "Charrier is a true businessman. His only goal in life is to make more money and live like a king. Everything he does is done in a way that creates the most profit possible. That's why he picks up Navy people like you often. It's quite a lot the English do pay to have their men returned to them."

This was true. I tried to ignore the thought of Charrier when he found out that I wasn't a part of the Royal Navy and they would not pay a pence to have me "returned."

"You know, I know you're not a lieutenant. Or weren't a lieutenant," yawned Mr. Pierson.

I almost spit out my drink, which only attracted the attention of one other man, who then continued talking with his friend.

"Don't you go make a scene about it. None of the others know."

My throat straightened itself a last time. "And how did you come to find out?" I said curiously.

"Just guessed. You can tell by the way you walk," he smiled, knowing that I would be interested in how he could tell such things.

I was interested. "By the way I walk? How so?"

He chewed his bite of a roll and swallowed. "You walk slouched with your back bent. Your head is almost always down, and your eyes look down with it. You weren't just a lieutenant who somehow got captured by pirates. You were something more, perhaps a captain or something higher. Then, something tragic happened and now you walk like that. Your body knows how to walk up straight, but your soul doesn't let it."

My telltale eyes blinked, taking this all in. It really is interesting having yourself examined by someone who knows nothing about you. "You figured all of that by the way I walk?"

"No. I considered you being something higher than a captain by the way you speak," he paused, smirking. "May I ask?"

"May you ask what?"

"May I ask what happened that was so tragic?"

I looked away, thinking. When did I start feeling so depressed? My resignation? No, it was before that. I think it began the moment I saw Elizabeth having a kiss with that Will, then it really started up after my resignation. My only main goal in life was to climb up higher in society, be it through a promotion or marrying a noble. But then that worthless blacksmith challenged that law. He was living proof that nobility had nothing to do with having a great life. That's when I started to have that sharp pain in my heart. When I realized that my place in society meant nothing. Therefore, my life meant nothing.

I stood up quickly. "Would you excuse me gentlemen? I would like to get some rest." I excused myself, completely forgetting the language barrier, and went down below deck to the hammock that had been pointed out to me for my use.

It had been a long day. Even spending half my day away from the sun had not lessened my fatigue. I had to keep reminding myself that I was in paradise and was going to stay there for at least a few more days. Thank God for the northbound tides.

---

"Mr. Hurst? Wake up, please. It's your port."

I awoke to find Mr. Pierson standing above me. My yawn stretched more than my jaw could handle before I processed my thoughts. "Port? Which port? I thought we were going to the colonies?" My God, how long have I been asleep?

He shook his head. "No, no, we make stops in a few more islands in the Caribbean first. Like I said, the sooner you get off, the less of the captain's money you take up."

Oh, I remembered well now. Greedy scoundrel. "Which port is this?"

Mr. Pierson said something, but my I was falling asleep and didn't quite believe what he said. "Sorry, could you repeat that again?"

"Why," he said, "Tortuga, of course."


	10. Red Sky in the Morning

I finished writing the story today. It made me feel so depressed, but on the otherhand, I'm not disappointed with it at all. But, you all will have to wait awhile until you get to finish it all. I'm evil. :P And.. yeah. You know the deal, Africans. Hungry. I'm not imaginative enough to think something else up. Enjoy and please review!

* * *

I do not know how a pirate feels while walking to their own hanging, but I can only assume that I felt the same way walking with Captain Charrier upon the island of Tortuga. Of course, the gallows were replaced by the town hall, which was located far off from any pubs but was still pillaged through regularly. But, it was an town hall, nonetheless, and would be the exact place where a captain would return any kidnapped and runaway English officers that they may have found in their travels. The problem was that I had to devise a plan in this short time that would allow me to explain to Charrier that I was not an actual officer without him slicing my throat. I had already observed his ferocity for respect that he demanded from anyone around him. I could not imagine his anger when he learns that I had tried to fool him. 

The captain and I walked silently and alone, the ominous red sky looming above us. He did not look at me, nor seemed to care that I was beginning to look anxious for some reason. We walked on the main streets rather than the dark shortcut alleyways where pirates were sure to be about. I tried to seem professional despite the filth on my clothes and did not look at any of the residents that we passed by. I only let my thoughts wander every once in a while only to be reminded of the fate that I faced. What exactly would he do to me? I suppose the most reasonable thing to do would to roar in French swears, push me to the ground, then threaten his sword at me. After that.. after, I do not know what, but I pray that my fate would be as so kind as to avoid that situation at any cost.

Soon enough, the town hall stood before us. It was a crooked and wrecked little thing. Shattered glass was spread below the windows and canvas replaced it, probably to keep the rain out. A few dents surrounded the front wall, and they looked as they came from guns. The drunkards sure had fun tearing this place up.

Charrier ignored all of this and strode in with me following behind. The inside was as crude as the exterior, with bare walls and a mess of papers everywhere.

The one man seated behind one of the desks did not seem to mind this at all. He looked up at our presence and greeted the captain in some decent French.

They exchanged a few words about light subjects such as the weather, politics, and little tidbits of gossip they had heard, or so I think. I did not listen much because I was wondering how long it would take for me to reach my doom. Then, Charrier finally mentioned to me and spoke with such words you would assume have to do with me like, "Edward Hurst" and "lieutenant." The other's eyebrows furrowed, and he returned a scowl, speaking such words like, "No, no, no!" which, in French, "_Non non non!_" sounds much more interesting.

Finally, the secretary coughed and said to me, "Mr. Norrington, how many drinks do you think you had last night?"

"None!" I proclaimed defensively. Actually, I did have that wine. Alas, this proved that the man actually knew who I was, making this situation even more complicated. I swallowed and tried to solve this problem without being killed.

"Is there any way that I could pay this man for his services without the use of a bank?" I asked. Using a bank would require me to be in public and show my dirt-filled face which I was not eager to do at the moment.

He shook his head rolled his eyes. "_Capitaine, le nom de cet homme est James Norrington. Il est une imposteur-_"

I brought my sword to his throat. It happened so quickly, so automatically, that I hardly believed that I had done it at all. Captain, he had said, this man is James Norrington. He is an impostor- then, I had snapped. At that word. Impostor. My heart began to beat quickly, and my breath with it.

The cheeky fellow stared bug-eyed at me. Captain Charrier did too, starting to back away with his hand desperately grabbing the hilt, but did not dare draw it out yet.

We all stood frozen for just that one second. I took a breath and went along with the spontaneity of it all. Threatening others was much better than being tortured, but was still very risky.

I walked closer to the secretary and went behind the desk, bringing the bottom of my blade closer to his neck. The man stood still. I reached into his pocket, pulled out his money pouch and tossed it to the Charrier, who caught it, looking very well surprised.

"_Est-ce que c'est assez?_" I asked. Will that be enough?

Charrier looked inside and shone with delight. "_Oui, oui. Merci._" Yes, yes. Thank you. Without further ado, he reached for the door and sped out of the room.

"Idiot," the secretary spat at me, "that was six crowns you just gave him."

I felt strangely content. "You should watch your mouth when it's so close to a blade."

He swallowed, but I had the feeling he wasn't completely overtaken by fear. He probably got threatened at the neck many times, living on such a filthy island. Nevertheless, I searched him and found that he was only armed with a pistol and a heavy pocket watch. When I asked him of this, he replied something about secretaries and their universally poor talent in sword fighting.

"Pity," I only said, and pocketed his pistol. It felt good to have something more than my sword in my belt. Besides, I was sure to need a pistol sometime soon.

My sword fell from his neck and I started toward the door. I remember that I took four steps, breathed once, and the bell had finished its strikes to signify the time.

"What will they say," the secretary suddenly wondered aloud, "when they find out that Commodore Norrington's gone pirate?"

I said nothing and quickly left.

Pirate. The word struck me in the heart. I was no pirate. Yes, I was. A pirate. A thief. I had stolen from that man. I had threatened him, with a sword! If that was not an act of a pirate, then nothing was. Stealing those six crowns- stealing that pistol had felt good to me. Why?! Why did it feel good? I did not want it to feel good or reviving. I did not want get an adrenaline rush from thieving. It wasn't who I was. I was a good man. Commodore Norrington. No, dolt! I wasn't anymore. Now I was a pirate. No, I can still be good without being Commodore. It was just more difficult.

It took me to a few minutes to realize I was running, and though I do not know where, I found it satisfying. I commanded my legs to stop, and they did, slowly. This was silly. I was acting childish, not to mention arguing with myself. This was the sort of thing people went to insane institutes for.

There was a clear puddle at my feet and I bent down to it. My reflection scowled back at me. It was the first time I had seen what I looked like in a very long while. I hardly recognized it. The man in the puddle had a dirty sunburned face, straggly dark hair, an unshaved beard, and an open shirt. I would call this man a pirate. The problem was that this man was me.

I stood up. I needed a drink again. I needed a drink about ten times more than I thought I needed a drink before. I had never consumed that glass of rum in Nassau, come to think of it. I was more concerned with Anne, and.. I shouldn't remind myself of that. It was yet another act of my new pirate self.

The one closest to me was just across the street, thankfully. I glanced at the name scratched on the sign that hung above the door. _The Faithful Bride_. It was a strange name, but come to think of it, all pub names were strange. I was thirsty for something alcoholic and standing in front of a pub. There was no time to lose.


	11. Rum, Sweet, Rum

A/N: Hey. I'm ultra super uber sorry that I didn't get this up early. You see, I was in a third world country without my computer. Gasp! I know, it was pretty bad. Actually, no it wasn't. .. So here's the chapter, and the last should be coming up soon. No word about the Africans. I'm not sure where they are. It's so quiet. It's starting to scare me. O.O

* * *

To my expectations at that moment, "The Faithful Bride" was a very impressive building. To my former standards, I would not dare to relieve myself in such a place. It was dirty, very dirty, and all the walls were the same color of dust. On the other hand, it was well decorated with potted plants and iron cast chandeliers. It also had a large amount of occupants considering that it was only midday. People talked, laughed, and drank. One cheery Spaniard played his guitar and sang some romantic tune. What surprised me the most from my observations was that no one even looked up when I entered. Actually, it was more disheartening. I actually fit in to the crowd, this pirate crowd. The shock was starting to wear off, but I had not completely come together with myself yet. 

I started for the bar. The barman, or rather, barwoman was a plump one with dark ringlets and a bonnet that was far too small. "You look like you've had a rough mornin'. Just one, then?" she asked in the sweetest voice that only seemed fit in a pub.

"For the moment, yes." I almost smiled. Almost.

Within the second, she already had a dirty mug of rum in front of me with a toothy grin. "That's a shilling."

I froze. My dark fate had just reminded me once again that I had no money. I should've taken a coin or two from that secretary. That's among one of the many things I should've done when I tried to be kind. There were times to be kind and then times to take care of yourself.

The barwoman furrowed her eyebrows and now took a very threatening look. "Not a sip if you can't pay!"

"No, no, please.. I-" I pleaded and searched my coat. Only that dreaded wig. Dash it all, I really needed some rum. I placed the wig upon my head. "Yak hair. You'd get quite a few guineas for a quality wig like this."

"What would I do with a bloody wig?!" Her frown turned larger.

I started to sweat. I needed something... anything! I looked to my surroundings for help. Just behind the bar was a display case a variety of weapons under lock and key. "You buy and sell swords, do you?" My hand dropped to the hilt of my ceremonial sword gently touching its grip.

She looked skeptical. "Yes, but I don't suppose you'd have anything that I'd want."

With a sudden motion, I brought my sword on top of the table. There were so many things that my mind told myself to keep me from breaking down to tears. A strong blow from any ordinary sword would surely break the blade of a gentleman's smallsword, no matter how expensive it is. Anyway, what did I need a smallsword for? I was no gentleman. Not anymore.

"The blade's been kept smooth and clean since I received it," I paused, waiting for her greed to overtake her.

Her eyes did glow and she lightly glided her grubby fingers over it. I prayed to my mouth not to cry out in objection. I remembered one of the few phrases my father had me memorize as a child. 'Never fall in love with your sword,' he always said 'It knows to kill, not to love you back.'

"I'd love to see the riches on the chap you nicked it from. How much?"

I swallowed, trying not to waste time convincing her that it actually was my sword, and I hadn't 'nicked' it from anyone. I looked up in the display case, picking out what equipment I would need from now on. "That cutlass there," I pointed to one of the rusty, yet more durable swords, "and ten bottles of rum."

The barwoman scoffed. "That's impressive, but not impressive enough for a trade like that."

I pressed my lips together, thinking, and finally said, "That's gold, you know, in the handle..."

She eyed it again. "Is it? Is it really? What was the offer again?"

"That cutlass," I pointed to a better one than before, "twenty bottles of rum, and that hat just there," I said.

"Fine then," she said immediately. "You've got yourself a deal."

---

The nightlife of Tortuga is actually an enjoyable one when you're welcome and drunk. When the sun set, an accordion and a violin player came in and added to the Spaniard's songs. More people began to pour in and more began to drink. Thankfully, not one of them seemed to recognize, or even notice me, except a small child of an irresponsible parent who kept staring. However, I had no worry from him because I had an almost limitless supply of rum and all the time in the world to drink it.

I did nothing but listen to the music of the crude little group. They played dancing jigs, passionate melodies, and many traditional songs of many countries, all tweaked in a little way. I hummed to a version of "Fiddler's Green" played twice as fast as it should have, which did not bother me much at all. I listened, and I hummed, and I drank, until the pub around me disappeared and I was in a world all my own.

Somehow, I had the slightest notion that I was having a dream, but didn't truly care anyway. The rain kept pouring down on my head, the wind whistled with a scream at my ears, and I was sure that it was not a hurricane that I was in, but _the_ hurricane. The rain lessened until it was at a complete stop, as if I was coming to the eye. I felt a knot in my stomach. The eye was not a blessing during that hurricane. The eye showed me the death it had brought to my ship, and that there were only five survivors including myself. Of course, four of these men and my ship were all gone by the end of it.

But, this was different. When the rain stopped, I found that the ship was careened vertically and I was on the main deck holding for dear life on a single rope. All around me, men lost grip of their ropes and slipped down into the dark water below. Nevertheless, I held on, and looked up to God. Though above me and somehow standing on the vertical deck was the Admiral, looking grim. Then, others began to appear to magically stick upon the deck. That secretary, my first captain, my own father, and many more that I had once looked up to. They all had the same look on my faces, but none of them moved to pull me up.

"Please," I pleaded, "help me! I beg of you!" Only the Admiral made a motion and brought up a sword- my sword. All the others began to smile. And in all their smiles, they all had one gold tooth, right in the same spot.

The Admiral cut the rope and with a sudden gasp, I fell down, down into the sea. I tried to keep my head up, but the waves knocked me down. The last thing I saw was the sailors that had slipped before were still alive, sitting just above the water on an invisible bench. They all had cups, of rum, I could smell, and raised them for a toast, as I was there drowning. They just toasted. Once, twice, three times. Why in the Lord's name-

"Listen up, scalawags!" I was back in _the Faithful Bride. _It was a cup and a spoon that made the toasting sounds. In fact, it was Mr. Gibb's utensils that made the sound. Mary, mother of God..

When the pub was silenced, Mr. Gibbs spoke again from atop his table. "For all ye sorry rum-soakers that think you can survive on a ship, _the Black Pearl_ is lookin' for new recruits, so get on over to this table. Hurry hurry though, we'll be leaving righ' when the sun touches that horizon!"

He stepped down, and the sounds of the pub continued. After all this time, all that chasing, _the Black Pearl_ was here, in Tortuga, just by chance. How could I be so idiotic? I could've waited for them here. I could have, and should have. But what could I do now? The dream had made it apparent. All of those people were the reason why I worked so hard to be something like a Commodore. But in the end? They let me drop. They were all pirates. And I was a pirate as well.


	12. One Chapter Behind

A/N: And so, I would like to present to you the final chapter of "The One Who Was Sacked", although I still think the title really sucks. The scene in this chapter may look extremely familiar to you for the mere fact that it was James' opening scene in Dead Man's Chest.. the very moment that my heart melted for him. Anyways, enjoy and feel free to review though I don't need those reviews anymore. The Africans attacked me just after last chapter and I have left their settlement. They didn't want me here either. Something about being too short? Another Author's Note to follow at the end just because I'm mean like that. Again, please enjoy!

* * *

I tried to ignore it, but there was that fact that the crew of the Black Pearl, which included Mr. Jack Sparrow, was just on the other side of the room. It wasn't a dream either. Everything was laid out perfectly, but the problem was I didn't know what it was laid out for. I had no idea what to do now. I just knew one thing. I knew that I was quite angry at them all. 

I was angry at everyone, and did not care what they did or did not do to anger me. I was angry at the Navy officials and everyone else who considered themselves of high class because they cared for nothing but power. I was angry at the pirates for just being pirates by killing, stealing, and making my life obsessed with them. I was especially angry at Jack Sparrow, for being so lucky all the time, and slipping out of my grip every time I got so close. And, I was angry at every common folk in between because they had made drinking rum look so attractive, which led to be being angry at the rum because it had given me a splitting headache. But, I finished another bottle before thinking anymore anyway.

So, where was I now? I was a dirty, drunken pirate in Tortuga, no more than the scum off the bottom of my boot! Scum, yes, scum. I looked out at the swirling images of people before me, all having fun. They didn't deserve fun. They were scum as well. Why, God, why do you let these things happen? I didn't even bother asking Him. I thought to myself, what did I want? Right now, I was a blank slate and anything could happen. I took another swallow of rum.

I wanted revenge. I wanted everyone to pay for what they had done to me, except the rum, because no one could really blame something that didn't have any thoughts. I eyed Mr. Gibbs from my seat. He looked, jolly and happy. He didn't deserve to look that way after all that had happened. I took a few moments to myself, and wandered over to the table. I didn't have a plan at all, but I focused on that one word. Revenge.

Since I was closer to them, I watched Sparrow while waiting in line. He was playing with his dreaded little compass. How could a man with so much luck not realize that his compass was broken? The sight ended too soon, and Mr. Gibbs spoke directly to me in the first time in about a decade. "And what's your story?" he asked with that disgusting, smug look on his face.

"My story.." I started to say slowly. It was hard to talk through the alcohol. "It's exactly the same as your story, just one chapter behind. I chased a man across the Seven Seas. The pursuit cost me my crew, my commission, and my life." I took his bottle and drank a bit. I needed some more drink if I was to go through with it all.

He almost looked frightened. "Commodore?"

"No, not anymore, weren't you _listening_?" That imbecile. How dare he even call me a such thing! I breathed, trying to keep the rum down my throat. "I nearly had you all off Tripoli. I would have if not for the... hurricane." Would he even remember that hurricane? The hurricane that ruined my life completely. Would he even care?

"Lord," said Mr. Gibbs. "You didn't try to sail through it?"

No, I asked if it wanted to have tea with me. Of course, I sailed through it, I wanted to say, but I didn't answer the question at all. He seemed to be getting dumber by the second. "So, do I make your crew, or not?" I asked. I knew he was trying to make up an excuse to get out of it.

"You haven't said where you're going," I stopped him, my rage rising. "Somewhere nice?" With a force I could only come by when drunk, I flipped over the table. It felt reviving. Refreshing. The music stopped, and people crowded out of my way as I walked to the center of the pub. I could see Sparrow and a plant trying slip in and out of the corner of my eye. There was no going back now.

"So am I worthy to serve under Captain Jack Sparrow?" I made sure to put the word 'captain' in there. It gave a completely different feeling to it all. I finally focused my eyes toward the pirate scum and cocked my newly acquired pistol at him. "Or should I just kill you now?"

Like the idiot clown that he is, he ducked on both sides of the wooden post that was next to him. My pistol followed. Who did he think he was? I'd really like to know that.

Sparrow smiled a little. "You're hired."

I thought nothing of it but that he really had no choice. Though, it brought me joy to think I could force him to do anything. "Sorry," I apologized sarcastically. "Old habits and all that."

Although, with the many advantages of threatening, you must always take account the unexpected, such as the loyal crewmembers that attack you because they don't have enough sense to actually listen to what's happening.

"Easy, sailor!" one shouted.

"That's our captain you're threatening!" said another, and they both strangled my arm, leaving me no choice but to shoot in the air. The shot ricocheted off of something, broke something else, and before I knew it, I was fighting against everyone else, once again.

The music continued, and no sooner than I threw off the two, another man came, who I kicked off. After that, another came towards me, but I had no feeling of distress whatsoever. I was a free soul, and accidentally killing an innocent man would not result in a demotion or whatnot. All of these men were only fairly innocent, which meant that they were somewhat guilty, and I could kill anyone if they dared to attack me. It's not that I really wanted to kill, but I could. I had the freedom too, and the freedom felt fantastic.

I drew my sword and clashed a few times with those who still tried to come at me. I took a moment's break to swallow a bit of rum, and there were no rules to stop me from doing so. I fought, and I drank, and then I fought again. When my bottle (or rather Mr. Gibb's bottle) ran out, I grabbed another one from a man that was about to fall out of consciousness.

The song finished just in time for me to be surrounded, although I still felt the adrenaline pumping through my veins. "Come on, men!" I urged them on. I could take them all. No one could match my swordsmanship, I knew that for sure. Absolutely no one. "Who wants some? Form an orderly line, I'll have you one by one. Come on, who's first?" I was the king, the ruler of all. I felt like I had power over everything, as if I could smite them all at once with the flick of my hand. I felt like I was-

Someone took my bottle. That was quite rude. A large crash. Then... darkness.

When I woke up, I landed in the mud, with the pigs. The laughs of the people faded away. I suspect they threw me there. What had I done? Somehow, I knew. I knew exactly what I did, but not why I did it. I had put my objectives before the lives of others. I let my crew die. That's the worse any man could do whether he was of the Navy or not. Only a true monster would do such a thing and then go on to blame it on others, rather than himself.

"James Norrington," said a soft voice, "what has the world done to you?" Anne? No, unfortunately not. It was Elizabeth, and seeing the sight of her face did not sadden my spirits at all.

I swallowed my pride, closed my eyes, and told the full truth. "Nothing I didn't deserve."

* * *

A/Nagain: Hello, again. Thanks for reading my entire story all the way through, or at least scrolling to the bottom of this chapter. I've worked very hard on it on many long nights and early mornings, although I'm a very slow writer so twelve chapters may not seem like anything to you. It seems like the world to me as this is the longest thing I have ever written... a full sixty-three pages double-spaced, which is so kick-a, I think. Anywho! 

I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, especially the ones who have reviewed more than once or have favorited this, which creates a happy do-da druglike effect on me. I shall mention them now and give them eternal hugness... sudoku, Nerds United, Random Authoress, Imortalis, and NazgulQueen, but especially the first three because you all are totally awesome it's not even funny!

Alright then. I suppose this is it. Thanks again for reading and I hope to.. er.. be read by you in the future!

-Oli


End file.
